


Glow

by vaarsuvius



Category: Dota 2
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaarsuvius/pseuds/vaarsuvius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grand magus is nothing if not curious of that which he does not understand. If ever there was a puzzle worth the undertaking, it was the Enigma. Whether the Enigma itself is amenable to being solved is another matter entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

When you hold him he tells you you are warm. “I don’t know what that means,” you tell him. Fumbling with the question for a short while, the magus decides the best explanation is experience. He conjures a ball of ice in his hand and places it in yours.

“Hurts, a little,” you say. When you say ‘hurt,’ Rubick has come to understand that it doesn’t so much mean pain so much as ‘a sensation you’re disinclined to experience further.’ You’ve become fairly sure over the course of your little experiments that you don’t understand pain in the same way he does.

He nods. “That’s cold,” he says as he passes his hand over yours. What remains in your hands is a glowing, insubstantial orb. “And this?”

The ball radiates a soft light that feels like it flows through your fingers up into the rest of your body. “Good,” you say, which means ‘a sensation you wouldn’t mind lasting a bit longer.’

“That’s warmth,” he says, and the orb disappears leaving an almost tangible feeling of absence behind. “Not too bad, right? You’re warm. A bit like a big, soft pillow that’s been in the sun.”

“Thank you,” you say, unsure of how to respond. He titters, amused. You understand emotion about as well as you understand the difference between hot and cold, comfort and pain. You’re used to not feeling anything at all, mentally or physically. Things have changed, recently.

The idea of engaging with mortals never held any particular appeal to you beyond the necessary task of general skirmishes. It was the magus, ever curious, who pursued you. With incessant questions you didn’t have the words to answer, he gradually wheedled his merry way into your life, or semblance thereof. With nothing else particularly better to do, you find most of your free time spent with him in tow.

He gives you words, puts names to things you don’t understand. When the horseman’s axe embeds itself in your form, that’s called ‘pain,’ and when the wisp tethers itself to you the feeling that bubbles up from the connection is ‘pleasure.’ He tells you about other things, like ‘happy’ and ‘sad,’ but those only make sense to you in relation to him, not yourself. He’s happy when he hums to himself, when a spell works just right. ‘Sad’ is when he forgets what he’s been doing, hisses and stomps. ‘Sad’ is worse still when he says nothing at all. That’s what you’ve gathered, anyway.

“Do you like this arrangement?” he asks you suddenly. He’s fiddling with some bits of metal on the end of a staff, wedged up in the crook of your arm.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s sort of like happy or unhappy, or like pain or… the opposite of that,” he says, and takes off his gloves to more delicately work the artifact. His hands are dark and thin like tree branches. He’s so delicate underneath his robes that at times you feel like you might break him by accident. “Feh. This blasted thing. Anyway, what I mean is, if given the choice between continuing to spend time being my headrest or doing something else, what would you do?”

“I don’t have a preference,” you say instinctively. “I simply am.”

Rubick doesn’t seem surprised. “I figured you’d say that. Well, if it’s all the same to you, you make a very nice sounding board. I’d like to keep you for myself.” He laughs at his own joke and you’re perplexed when, seemingly without a cause, you feel warmth again.


End file.
